There is something to be said about December.
The clouds are heavy, the hills are covered in chalk, the fireplace steps into the shoes of Summer, life continues. There is no need to travel to the Wooded country - or hallucinate magic when the trees lay dead, and the snow is drifting. December gathers the forest's charm and displays it on the Oak, the concrete, the road, and the rooftop.
December not only brings clouds to our feet, or wool to our breasts, December also brings shortbread, my birthday, whiskey, eggnog, and lots of wistful thinking. Some folks spend August longingly remembering their days as a babe. Some folks, spend May. For me, December will always be the month to kindle thoughts of my childhood.
When the snow shows up, I feel like a little one - wearing bows - wanting to roll my hips into snow piles - wanting to drink hot cider - wanting to be bundled by scarves - or by arms.
Tomorrow, it's time for Christmas shopping... I have no idea what gifts to buy/create for anybody on my list - I'm depending on the charms of luck - like I always do.))